


Warped This Perhapsy

by htebazytook



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, First Time, Het, Humor, Parallel Universe, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-29
Updated: 2012-08-29
Packaged: 2017-11-13 04:13:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htebazytook/pseuds/htebazytook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose dreams in the parallel universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warped This Perhapsy

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers through series 4 ish. Brace yourself, here comes the angst! The sappy, sappy angst. [Title courtesy of e.e. cummings.](http://www.eliteskills.com/analysis_poetry/warped_this_perhapsy_9_by_e_e_cummings_analysis.php)

**Title:** Warped This Perhapsy  
 **Author:** [](http://htebazytook.livejournal.com/profile)[**htebazytook**](http://htebazytook.livejournal.com/)  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Disclaimer:** <—  
 **Pairing:** Rose/Tenth Doctor  
 **Time Frame:** Circa series 3. More specifically, sometime post series 2 and pre whenever Rose started being useful in the parallel universe  
 **Author's Notes:** Spoilers through series 4 ish. Brace yourself, here comes the angst! The sappy, sappy angst. [Title courtesy of e.e. cummings.](http://www.eliteskills.com/analysis_poetry/warped_this_perhapsy_9_by_e_e_cummings_analysis.php)  
 **Summary:** Rose dreams in the parallel universe.

 

 

"Thought you'd've found a new sidekick, by now."

The Doctor glances over at her. "What d'you mean?"

"I'm not . . . sure . . . never mind, I guess." Rose laughs, doesn't know what she'd meant, actually.

"It's different with you," the Doctor says, shrugging.

"Oh really? So, let's have it," Rose says, leaning into him. "What's so bloody special about me then?"

The Doctor holds her at arms length, pretends to examine her. "Aha! As I suspected: you are a perfect human. You are _the_ human." He stops gleaming at her. "Jackie Tylers of the world notwithstanding, even. Bit of a miracle, really."

She shoves him and he laughs, gone back to gleaming.

"Right! Where are we off to next, then? Can't knock about here forever."

Rose could, though. "And _why_ do we always have to be going somewhere, pray tell?"

"Starships were _meant_ to fly, Rose." Where was the TARDIS, anyway? "Hands up and touch the sky! Higher than a—"

"Okay, what are you on about?"

The Doctor takes in her blank expression. "Ohhhhh, never mind. All in good time. So! What do you think? Pay old Jeanne d'Arc a visit? Or, ooh, I haven't taken you to the moons of Saturn, have I? Or Ribos! You can wear that fur coat in the wardrobe I'm not _quite_ one hundred percent certain isn't still alive, but you'll have this won't—ooh, ooh! We might tour the underground caverns of Cramodar—ninety-third wonder of that world, they are. Were. Whatever . . ."

Rose just watches him be happy and eager and rambling, smiles and says, "Whatever you like."

*

_Rose knows it doesn't make sense, but she can't help feeling that this London ought to be more . . . backwards, or something. It should look like a mirror image with door handles on the opposite side and everything spelled right to left—it felt that way, so why didn't it look that way too? Nothing made sense here, but it looked so normal. She couldn't stand it._

_Rose wants the air to smell differently, at least. At least one subtle little thing like that? All she wants is for the world to give her some sort of acknowledgment that everything has changed, but it just won't. She feels like the only person in a crowd of people who can see the truth, and like in a dream she screams and screams but no sound ever comes out._

_She hates herself for it, but sometimes she thinks it would have been easier if the Doctor was just dead. Really dead. But instead, and because he was the Doctor, he'd left her with hope, and along with it the worry that he was dead and she would never know. The not knowing was definitely worse—with her father, it had been the lost potential that had hurt so much. The never being allowed to know. And with the Doctor it was even worse than that, because she'd tasted it, and she knew what she was missing . . ._

_Rose spends her days thinking herself in circles like this while her mum and Mickey watch her and worry. But her father—or whatever—was in some ways easier to be around. He wouldn't look at her with pity and make her remember. He understood about lost potential, but even finding happiness hadn't lifted the weight of loss for him, not totally. The bad things always spoilt the good things, in the end._

*

"You look terrible," Rose tells the Doctor. He looks the same, yeah, but he also looks more worn out or tired or something.

"When nine hundred years old you reach, look as good _you_ will not." Winks at her, then keeps walking.

They're always walking, it seems. Stuck walking in circles and never stopping, not even for a second.

"Lovely weather we're having," the Doctor says at length.

Rose laughs, because the only weather around here is fuzziness. "That all you got to say?"

The Doctor smiles at her. "Yep."

They walk down the middle of the street, close and quiet. Rose can't completely focus on the surroundings, but she gets the impression that it's sunny and empty, no other people round for miles, seems.

"I miss you," Rose says. It had welled up in her throat and clamored to escape and she hadn't been able to stop it.

The Doctor tilts his head. "Bit of an odd thing to say, what with me right here and everything. Not boring you, am I?" His tone implies that he finds this to be a very slim possibility indeed. He takes her hand, and Rose is content to keep walking aimlessly with him without speaking, as long as they can just touch.

*

_"To be quite honest I thought you'd be over your Doctor obsession now you've got a father of sorts."_

_"Mickey!" Rose doesn't know how else to respond. Was this what Mickey was like, now? God, was it so much to ask that just one thing not have changed?_

_Mickey is immediately contrite, though, and looks rather more like himself. "That . . . came out wrong. Obviously. Sorry. I just mean . . . well, you know. There's things to be thankful for, too, you know? You've got yourself a proper family, and listen, the Doctor was the one who gave you that. He wasn't gonna let you just throw your whole life away so you could live his. It's what's best for you, Rose, and—"_

_" No, it's not. You don't understand. I can't . . . " Rose shakes her head, calms. "Just can't, that's all."_

_Mickey waits a tense few minutes before saying, "It is what he wanted for you."_

_"Look, you don't understand what it's like, all right? You don't . . . " Rose gets a better look at his face, gets a healthy dose of guilt. "Sorry." I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

_"It's all right," Mickey says tonelessly. But it will never be completely all right._

_Sometimes, Rose looks at Mickey and can't quite believe how horribly selfish she's been, how stubbornly unable to recognize their collective issues and unfair reasons for clinging to each other. She likes him much better now that he's hardened against the world some and doesn't want her. And she hates herself for this, too, but that creeping melancholy that's now a part of him reminds her of the Doctor, and she finds herself hoping that Mickey will one day develop a more quirkily cheerful persona to top it all off and oh God, nothing's really changed in their relationship, has it?_

_Mickey's walked out at some point during her reverie, though, so that's progress._

*

"Doctor? Doctor!" Rose runs in circles through the streets, can't find a single bloody pedestrian to seize by the collar and interrogate because _he's gone_ he's gone and he'd been there just a moment ago. " _Doctor_!"

She can't see properly, just the blurry outlines of houses and cars and approximations of trees. She rushes up to the nearest house and bangs on the door, which is made out of something flimsy and organic, apparently, because her fist goes right through it. "Hello? Anybody there? Let me in!" She's got to talk to somebody, _anybody_ , someone's got to know where the Doctor is . . .

Rose kicks the door in, scratchy crinkly bits of material settling around her, and the rest of the house follows in a sort of puff of hemp or whatever it was, leaving her alone on the threshold with nothing to show for it.

She huffs, races over to the next house and rings the doorbell, peers in through the wooden windows and kicks at the wooden door. "Let me in! I've lost him, don't you see? Please just—" She shrieks in frustration and punches the door painfully until the whole house gives and collapses like a stack of wooden cards.

The next house is rather more normal looking, which is hopefully a good sign. She's never seen a brick door, however, and isn't about to go banging on it. Just shouts, "Let me in! Let me _in_! Or I swear, I'll—"

"You'll what, blow the house down?" The door opens and there's the Doctor, dramatically backlit. He looks like a vengeful angel, all fire and fury and violent justice. "Rose, you need to stop this. It's not time, not yet." He doesn't sound like the Doctor at all.

"Doctor?"

"Burn with me."

"What . . ." Flames are licking impossibly at the brick house, flashing terrible light and shadow against the Doctor's face. Rose shuts her eyes.

*

_It takes a bit of digging around on the internet and a couple of phone calls where she pretends to be a nondescript auditor before she can even get an address, but she's successful in the end._

_It's a tiny old house in Stoke Newington—well, parallel Stoke Newington. Whatever._

_Rose knocks on the door, jumps when it's answered almost immediately._

_"H-hi there! Right, hello. Er. My name's Rose. Tyler." She searches the woman's face for a sign of recognition. "Sorry, I'm a friend of the Doctor, actually, and . . ."_

_" ' The Doctor'? Doctor who? Look, I have nothing against you personally, and while I understand you're probably just trying to make a living, I really must ask that you not call during supper, thanks."_

_Rose catches the closing door. "But I'm. I'm Rose. You don't . . ." No, she doesn't. "You've no idea what I'm talking about. Sorry to have disturbed you, Ms Smith." _

*

In the middle of the fuzzy street, the Doctor's been talking about everything and nothing and flashing her mad little grins here and there.

"Listen," Rose says, "Are you _ever_ going to tell me your real name?"

"What, even though the sound of it is something quite atrocious? Nah, 'the Doctor' will do just fine."

Rose laughs. She would like to have him rambling on for every track on her iPod and pacing in the background of every locale and always coming back to her in the end. She jogs in front of him to stop him walking, grins at his especially wide eyes and stands on her tip toes to kiss him.

The Doctor makes a lovely little surprised sound into her mouth, cups her jaw and kisses back carefully, slow and hot and his tongue delves into her mouth heart-racingly. Rose sighs and leans closer to him, heat of his body all up against her through all those stupid layers and she starts unbuttoning his shirt no matter that they're in public, she just needs—

The Doctor pulls away. "It's not that kind of dream," he says.

"What d'you mean dream? What are you talking about?"

The Doctor is fading. No, no, no, no, no _not_ again, no. Rose grabs at him but her hands find nothing. He smiles. "I suppose, if it's one last chance to—"

 

_Rose opens her eyes, and yeah, still nothing. Just the ceiling of this unfamiliar house and the sound of nothing in the background, the feel of nothing in her hands. She wants so desperately to get back to sleep that she never does._

*

_"Are you sleeping all right, Rose?" Mum asks her one morning._

_Rose lifts her head from the kitchen table, still much too groggy to deal with blood relatives. "Yeah, sure."_

_"No nightmares or anything?" Mum busies herself with pretending to tidy the kitchen, which is clearly a lost cause._

_"No . . . I mean, even if I do have dreams, I never remember." Rose doesn't say that she feels sick whenever she wakes up, like there's things she ought to be remembering but can't. She doesn't say that she spends most of her day walking aimlessly through parallel London and trying to get rid of the feeling._

_She makes her escape to do just that before Mum starts trying to force feed her. There hasn't been a gloomy day since they arrived here, and the pure blue sky feels mocking more than encouraging, really._

*

Rose's eyes are closed, but the rest of her senses are on overload. She smells relentless sweetness, feels the crunch of grass underneath her and tickling the back of her neck. She feels hot breath ghosting over her skin in the wake of kisses, feels the almost-chill of springtime breezes and the scratch of material and stubble and fingernails.

Rose opens her eyes but can't see, instantly blinded by sunlight. Before she can adjust a hand blocks her vision.

"No no, not yet," comes the Doctor's voice.

Rose nods but doesn't understand, shuts her eyes again. "Where are we?" she asks instead.

The Doctor laughs, and it vibrates against Rose's shoulder before he returns to lazily sucking at her neck. "Make a deduction."

Rose inhales the sweet air in an attempt to not have a heart attack because, you know, _the Doctor is sucking at her neck_. "New Earth." And it feels significant to be somewhere with green and growing things instead of an endless, shapeless street leading them nowhere.

The Doctor laughs again, into her ear this time because he's in the middle of nibbling on it and making her melt. His mouth brushes across her temple to kiss her forehead, eyebrow, nose, and she just slices her fingers through his hair and brings their mouths together _finally_ , to which he makes that same little surprised sound and kisses her right back, one wonderfully strong hand running down her side and—

 

_And she's cold. And the sheets are missing._

_It's Dad peering down at her. "Where's your mother keep the pancake mix?"_

_Rose stretches on the bed, blinking away breathless dreaming thoughts. "She doesn't. Don’t think she even knows what it is, actually. It's frozen goodness all the way in this house, mister."_

_He laughs._

*

_Rose figures she might as well talk to him since he'd woken her up. And somehow talking about Mum and bonding over making a makeshift breakfast leads to Dad opening up all of a sudden, fidgeting with his coffee and oblivious to the smudge of syrup near his mouth._

_"I love your mother, Rose. I do. But at the same time, looking at her is a reminder that she's dead. Well, that my Jackie's dead. Well . . . you see what I mean. Sometimes, I . . . feel a bit guilty for being happy with her because I loved the Jackie from this universe, too. But they really are the same person, at heart. And I do know that she'd want—that the Jackie who's gone would want me to be happy. It just hits me sometimes, though—I'm with her, but I'm still grieving her. It's just—"_

_"I'm sorry," Rose says, puts her hand on his. "But you're right, she would want you to be happy. And you should be. You deserve it—both, well, all of you do." _

*

The Doctor is sad, today. He doesn't say so, but Rose can tell by the haunted look in his eyes under all that cheerful chatter, the subtle shuffle of his shoes against the tarmac.

Rose touches his arm to get his attention. "Doctor."

"Why can't I stay." His tone's too dead to make it sound like a question.

Rose doesn't know.

"What am I, then?" he continues. "Nothing. I'm just a story."

"No . . . you're real as me." Rose takes his hand and smiles at him, can't quite hide her worry.

"Oh, I'm just a poor boy," the Doctor says, snapping out of it. "I need no sympathy."

Rose laughs. "Hadn't pegged you for a Queen fan."

The Doctor shrugs, squeezes her hand a bit as they continue along the featureless street.

*

_Rose—the dog, that is—had growled at the lot of them at first, sniffing Mum and regarding her suspiciously for days and days. Rose-the-dog now went from cuddling up to Mum to barking at her when she entered a room. Sometimes, Rose—real Rose, that is—honestly believes she feels more camaraderie with a dog than with anyone else in parallel London. So Rose doesn't discipline Rose-the-dog when she's relapsed to yapping—she'll just pick her up and carry her, tiny and quivering, around the house until she calms and starts trying to chew on Rose's hair._

*

"Why do you always have female companions, then?" She hadn't meant it to come out quite so possessively.

"Well . . . too much testosterone, for one thing. Alpha male shenanigans. Can't have you silly humans trying to take the reins when you've no idea what's actually going on. Don't get me wrong, 's not _their_ fault they're human. I just, ah, prefer not to deal with . . . that. But, come on, look at Mickey! Mickey was brilliant. No excess of testosterone, there, our Mickey."

Rose shoves him. "Shut up. Mickey has plenty of . . . " She clears her throat. "Well, let's just say no one's disputing he's man enough when it counts."

The Doctor raises his eyebrows, looks skyward for help. "Not sure I wanted to know that."

"Interesting little theory you have there, though," Rose continues. "And here I thought it was just about the eye candy . . ."

" _Well_ ," the Doctor says, "that doesn't _hurt_." He grins at her, and it's just cheeky and fun and happy, but it makes Rose flush with heat and want to kiss him immediately.

"Mmm," the Doctor is saying, now, because she's gone ahead and done it, apparently. His hands are at her waist and his mouth moves against hers so easily Rose can't fathom why this hasn't happened before.

Rose breaks away, panting. "You said it wasn't that kind of dream."

"Did I say that? Huh." The Doctor frowns. "What d'you mean, dream?"

Rose laughs. " _I_ dunno, that's just what you said, once, right?"

The Doctor shrugs. "Well I do tend to ramble on, don't I?"

He responds so quickly, hands at her waist and head tilting to nudge the kiss from chaste to suddenly serious. Rose's breath hitches and the Doctor draws her closer, kisses her so emphatically. She twines her arms around his neck and cards through his hair absently, closes her eyes against the dizzy reality of it all and wants nothing more than to be kissed into forgetfulness at last.

It's only when Rose shoves him onto the bed that she realizes they're even in a bedroom. She can't remember anything about their surroundings up until now, in fact, but really there are more pressing matters at hand—namely, her hand pressing against the Doctor's matters. He gasps and blinks at her, oddly on the same level because he's sitting on the edge of the mattress while she stands there and gropes him. Rose can feel his cock hardening already.

"Rose . . ."

Rose shushes him with a kiss, then drop to her knees before he can protest. The Doctor's hands settle shakily on her shoulders as she works his trousers open, tugs them off and grins at his gaping, breathless mouth before giving his cock a couple of strokes just to watch that expression falter even further. He starts to say something so she removes her hand and replaces it with her mouth.

The Doctor goes utterly still, doesn't groan or gasp or do anything but stare at her. She's busy taking his cock in deeper and doesn't actually look up, but she can feel the heat of his gaze. She thinks it might carry a literal, palpable heat, because God, it always has . . .

She pulls off his cock to lick a hot stripe from base to tip, leaves sucking kisses there and feels him twitch under her tongue. Grins again and swallows him as far as she can, and _that_ gets a proper reaction—the Doctor making a strangled sound while his hands grip her shoulders ever tighter.

Rose sucks him for quite awhile before the Doctor snaps out of it, slips his arms underneath hers to lift her up and lay her out on the bed instead. She'd expected him to hold her still and tell her to take it easy or relax and stroke her hair tenderly but instead he just rips her shirt off (actually rips, mind you), pushes her bra out of the way without bothering to get it off at first, then bends to take one of her nipples into his mouth while relieving her of her jeans and knickers and all the rest, and his forehead is hot and sweaty against her collarbone, and errant shards of his hair tickle at her neck.

"Beautiful," the Doctor mutters against her heaving chest, and who actually says that in real life and totally pulls it off? The Doctor, that's who. "You're the most beautiful thing." Leans up to kiss her lingeringly. Rose's arms twine around his neck to anchor herself amid a crippling swirl of lust and emotion all wrapped up in the way the Doctor smells. "Oh, I'm going to make you feel _fantastic_."

She laughs because he sounds like he's imitating himself, and how did that work, anyway? Oh whatever, whatever . . .

The Doctor's kissing down her naked body now, hands roaming and reverent though his mouth is doing positively wicked things along the way, biting gently at a nipple and delving teasingly into her navel or just simply breathing over kiss-dampened skin.

Rose sinks her fingers into the Doctor's hair, which is really very unfairly gropable, and is immediately thwarted by unyielding, glued-together strands. "Not living up to the fantasies, here, Doctor."

The Doctor winces. "How do you think I get it to stay like this?"

"Well I dunno! Time Lordy . . . gravity defying . . . well I don't bloody know, do I?"

The Doctor rakes his hands through his hair rather violently, which is captivating, until it's sticking out at all angles and approaching fluffiness. "There. Have at it."

At this point she's far less concerned with that as she is with the liquid heat of his tongue licking her pussy lips apart, then finding her clit basically immediately, spot on and perfect and oh _of course_ he's impeccable when it come to sex.

She loses track of time, brain waves turned to heat waves and inexorable, building pleasure seeping through her every molecule. At one point she glances down and gets a spectacular view of the Doctor's face framed by her thighs, eyes closed and tongue doing its usual crazy things, but in a much more productive context considering he's got her hovering right on the edge, now.

There's a lovely burn inside of her, then, which she at first thinks is a little spasm of arousal but then realizes it's two of the Doctor's fingers, solid and _there_ and she groans and bears down onto them because oh are you kidding, it is not _nearly_ enough. He seems determined to open her up slowly though, sucks at her clit as if to distract her, which works flawlessly, and her frustrated noises turn into drawn-out moans.

The Doctor smiles—oh God she can _feel_ it—and licks lightly at the hardened nub while he twists his fingers deeper inside of her. She orgasms before she can quite register it happening, only knows she's turned into a shivering, boneless mess and her groin is throbbing and the Doctor's gone missing.

He comes back, like he never does or always does or just like she wishes he does, and he's shed his remaining clothes, judging by the quiet softness of his skin against hers as he settles on top of her. And, God, his skin's so _hot_. Alienness? Then again, who cares?

Rose is so ridiculously wet she's surprised his cock doesn't slide the whole way in straight away. The stretch of it as he pushes inside leaves her breathless, and the hints of the Doctor's voice in his harsh breathing shocks the ache of pleasure into something even stronger.

Her hands run up and down his back and she gasps, "More," into his ear, " _More_ ," to the pillow when she's strained her head to the side, "Oh just _more_ ," to the vibrating space between them while he stares right into her with impossibly soulful eyes.

He looks bony and thin, and he is, but there's lean hard muscle, too, and Rose clings to him to feel said muscles working because that means he's real and human. Human-ish. Just— _real_.

The ache of building pleasure is such a white-hot sensation, so sharply relentless that it's nearly dulled, but all Rose can think is _more_ , just more of this because when it stops then nothing will ever feel this almost perfect again.

The Doctor shifts her up a bit, thrusts harder and sort of curls into her, bodies touching everywhere now and he turns his head against her neck desperately, stills and groans her name as he comes.

*

"Not bad for a human, eh?" Rose says, even though she'd done little more than lie there and let the Doctor ravish her. She looks over at him and wants it all over again, right now and absolutely whenever he wanted it too.

The Doctor seems to be attempting a witty response—there's some gesturing and half-formed thoughts before he just laughs and looks at her and says, "Oh, does it need saying?"

She tries to laugh but can't quite summon the strength, just stares dreamily at him and tries to remember what life was even like without the Doctor around to stare dreamily at.

"You're good for me," the Doctor says. "I don't mean . . . well." He nods significantly at their collective state of undress. "You in general, I mean. Us, I mean. But it's also a bit too good to be true. Actually." He's veering too close to melancholy, which is not allowed right now, dammit.

Rose touches his arm, sits up to get a better look at him. He looks so young, sometimes. In the eyes. "Don’t say that."

"It's not that you're better or worse than her," he continues, distant. "It's just that you're better for me. Well, not really . . . oh I dunno. She's fantastically brilliant, of course, but she just isn't, well, _you_. It's just timing, as always . . ." The Doctor sounds like he's thinking out loud.

Rose is half listening, head blinded with heartbeat and body awash in endorphins. Says vaguely, "Right, _who's_ this mistress of yours?"

"Oh never mind, it's not quite time. Not yet."

*


End file.
